Rewrite
by toseethemfly
Summary: The God of Fate decided that he wrote a few things wrongly about the past. Using a certain bushy-haired female character as his protagonist, he rewrote what has been written by rewinding the story a couple of decades back to right the wrong. HGTR.
1. Prologue

**Rewrite. **

**AN:**  
Merry Christmas everyone.

Enjoy this first chapter to hopefully would be a well-written and likable AU HG/TR fan fiction.  
As you read this story, I ask you the simple favor of concentrating on reading the story, but to also keep an open mind.  
Oh, and reviewing afterwards won't be so bad, either.

**Summary: **  
The God of Fate decided that he wrote a few things wrongly about the past.  
Using a certain bushy-haired female character as his protagonist,  
he rewrote what has been written and rewound the story a couple of decades back to right the wrong.  
HGTR.

**Dedication and Acknowledgment:**  
This first story of mine, Rewrite, is dedicated to Kim Camaro, Eliza Luna, Casper, Kiesha, and Raf.  
You guys know why.  
Especially to you, Kim Camaro, for opening my heart and mind to Hermione/Tom,  
the unlikely yet oozing with sweetness pair.  
Dedicated also to the whole 'Just Do It' crew and my Green Archer and Blue Eagle families.  
I owe you guys my 'quill and ink' inspiration, Fate. 'Cause Fate brought us all together.

Dedicated also to HG/TR writers, supporters, readers, and even haters all over the fan fiction universe.

Reader, if you started this story a few steps behind while I write it, I let you know that you are embarking on a journey that I pride to be unique and original.  
I pray that we'll be able to finish it together and have fun at the end of the road.

**Disclaimer: **  
I don't own Harry Potter. Everything's owned by the awesome J. Rowling. The plot, however, is all mine.

* * *

**Prologue: Right the Wrong.**

1998

The God of Fate looked upon the canonical universe of Harry Potter, in which souls were crushed with despair. Souls that over the course of their growth have faced danger, sadness, sufferings, and obstacles they did not deserve.

Out of all of them, three tattered, defeated, and hopeless souls whose lives were hardly beginning yet have already faced so many stood out…

Sadness graced his timeless face as he averted his gaze and turned to the other parts of the world, and saw the snake-like man who hadcaused the spirit-downing despair.

Saw him kill, burn, and look down on everything the God of Fate worked hard to create and destroyed them mercilessly.

"This is wrong," he placed his head to his hands dejectedly.

"I have written everything wrongly." He looked down on the universe whose fate he has written ever since time began.

He stopped writing, thereby stopping time itself, putting down his quill and rubbing his eyes dejectedly. "I have to do something."

Upon setting down the quill, Time stopped, and the present froze between the clear past and the imprecise future.

He looked at what he wrote, what he was writing, and what he was about to write.

He dismally realized the mistakes he had done, and decided to do something never in eternity had he thought of ever doing; rewrite.

Fate dipped his quill in the ink. His quill suspended in midair, he thought of what to write to right what he wrote wrong, and set down the quill again.

Goodness knows he couldn't just cross out the mistakes and just jut down the substitute, where be the imagination and the creativity in _that_?

He read the past, and his eyes grew at the injustice he had blindly written about his past antagonist-to-be protagonist and present antagonist who was killing and destroying like he owned the bloody world, the misunderstood and mysterious Tom Riddle.

He frowned, okay; maybe those weren't the write words to explain this certain man who wascurrently the doom of the present he stopped writing a few minutes ago, which was now frozen. But, looking back at the written past, there was something wrong about the way he wrote him. Yes, his demeanor was wrong, but he meant him to be like that. But he couldn't place the irking feeling that was ebbing into him, there was something _wrong_.

"Well, as I'm rewriting the past, I can do all bloody things I want to tidy up Tommy."

He chuckled at the nickname he often called his young antagonist in the making. Though, if _Tommy _was real, he was sure he would _Crucio_ his 'godness' into oblivion.

He read the written life of Tom Marvolo Riddle before he turned into Lord Voldemort, and remembered this particular character's biographical profile; from his parents' tragic non-love to his graduation in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Tom was, in a way, a riddle himself (at least to all those who isn't technically writing his fate); always to himself, never truly opening up to anyone. The God of Fate sighed, that was his mistake. Maybe it was karma.

He was the author. Tom was his character. And this certain character was taking revenge on him for purposely making his life miserable. Go figure.

Tom was now destroying the lives of everyone whose fates all came from the ink of Fate's quill.

Looking again at the present he was supposed to be writing, Fate found another injustice he had caused; if he changed Tom Riddle's life, it would be unfair for the other characters whose lives were miserable because of him. Yeah, he was a loony like that.

So, he decided to make things a bit more interesting. He was changing practically everything anyway; he might as well have fun.

"Eenie, Meenie, Miny- no, that's not really a good idea." He whispered to himself, rubbing his chin, deciding on the other lucky character whose rewritten life would partake in his rewriting of the past.

He looked at the three detested souls who were the reason he was even changing what he had written. Fate decided that as 'punishment', he would choose one of them to be the new protagonist as he rewrote the past.

He obviously couldn't pick all of them. That would be a risky move; changing four courses at once would force him to change practically the whole history.

Would it be Harry? Tom's defeat? Nah. The life that's already written is already too eventful. It would be a shame to others if he again chose Harry as the protagonist of this rewritten story.

How about Ron? Harry's best friend? He'd probably kill Tom to smithereens, though. Fate made sure that his being redhead also meant his being temperamental. Ron was also too much of a Gryffindor. He might not be able to fulfill what Fate was planning.

And then, there's Hermione.

Fate paused; he had always meant it that there would be a similarity of each of the three to Tom. Not just Harry.

Harry and Tom were alike pretty much in all aspects. They looked a lot alike and they both have qualities of both Gryffindor and Slytherin.

Ron and Tom both have mood swings and are hot-headed. Enough said.

Hermione and Tom? Fate was curious. Very curious. Hermione and Tom were both very similar, yet also different.

Their main similarity was their thirst for knowledge. But the knowledge they thirst for contrast. Tom craved for the knowledge to destroy and not be destroyed. Hermione was into a lot of things; currently in the Trio's quest for the horcruxes, was learning how to destroy him. And Fate grinned.

Their greatest desires were very different. He wanted to be all powerful and immortal. She wanted to be with her friends and family alive and unscathed and Voldemort finished. Fate smirked.

He wanted power for himself. She wanted (practically craved for) power for the weak.

"Hmmm…I wonder," Fate mused. Would it be too much of a cliché to rewrite the story from tragic childhood to tragic love, wherein the love would be forbidden and unlikely and full of many obstacles? The kind of love wherein the greatest obstacle is from the lovers themselves? And if that wasn't pushing the limits, how about a love wherein 'opposites attract'?

Fate laughed. Cliché, indeed.

Fate further mused. Hermione was a highly eligible candidate as his main protagonist when he rewrites the past. She was the kind of person he can imagine who would be able to right what he had written wrong. To do that, he needed to change Riddle, and since he just doesn't want to cross out a few things and change them to another, Hermione seemed to have all the qualities to do that.

She could stand up to him, when no one else can. Fight him, debate with him. And even have a staring contest with him, looking into his eyes and not waver.

Now, Fate was beyond interested into the 'what-if". He was fascinated.

Now that Fate was pushing the limits by taking Hermione out of the present and into the past, why not push more? Besides, he needed to right the wrong, anyways, so, let's enumerate all the injustice he did to Tom.

There's only one actually, Tom always got what he want. If he didn't, he'd just get it by any possible means. He never really got anything he needed. Not just the simple kind of basic necessities of life, but the necessities of _life_. And, according to _Fate's_ book, the necessities of Tom Riddle's life are _to love_, _to be loved_, and _to_ _be for love_.

Merlin knows Fate had denied Tommy all of the three, and he was now regretting it.

And so, in comes Hermione. But how shall she do it? How to change Tom for him to acquire the necessities of life? How, indeed.

Fate couldn't simply whisk her from the present and make the two meet and face many hardships and etc. Oh, no, no, no. That simply won't do. He did want flavor in his story, but 'overdone' simply isn't his type of 'flavor'.

So what shall he do? Well, seeing that the life of every damned being is according to his quill and ink, he can -sad to say- do all the bloody hell that he wants. And he also said he wanted to push the limits, but not do something 'overdone'.

Fate contemplated back on his protagonists. Tom and Hermione. Oh, what a thrill it would be to write their story, especially now that he had decided to write whatever he wanted.

_Tom has want and need issues…Hermione's going to fix him…_and Fate laughed at the sudden impulsive thought that came to his mind.

_Desear Sprites_ have always had the tendency to teach people lessons on their wants and needs…

Or, more commonly known to muggles as _genies; _magical creatures who have the power to grant people's wishes.

Fate had laughed because of a certain perception humanity always inflicted to Desear Sprites; if the wisher is granted three wishes, the first two wishes would be of the wisher's wants, then there would be horrifying consequences which will then cause the last wish to turn into a need, usually for the sprite never to have appeared or existed or for the wishes to be undone. Or if more wishes to be granted, it turns out to be the same; the last wish would always turn to one of need.

And as Fate chuckled, he thought, _Why not?_

Turning Hermione into a Desear Sprite would definitely add a unique flavor as he rewrites the past. To make things more interesting, Fate decided that she should be turned to a Desear Nevie Sprite, Desear Sprites who only grant wishes that are of need to the wisher.

Being a Desear Nevie Sprite also grants the wisher an unlimited number of wishes, depending on the need or needs of the wisher. A Desear Nevie Sprite will not stop granting wishes of need until the wisher has acquired his or her life's necessities.

_Brilliant, it's the perfect way to give Tom the needs of his life_, Fate thought, _**With**__ flavor_.

He suddenly looked at the calendar: December 25, 1998.

Huh. Irony was _sometimes _known to be unexpected. Time stood still on Christmas. Fate had stopped the ongoing present. And decided to go back to the past to rewrite…

_That reminds me,_ He again thought as he looked back again on the written past. _**When**__ shall I start rewriting? When would be the perfect time to start languishing Tom with his needs?_

_It should be a time when he has already gotten a few of his wants, only then will he know his wants (that were not healthy for him), _Fate contemplated, checking back fifty-five years.

_December 25, 1943; he already found out about his heritage as Heir of Slytherin, unlocked the Chamber of Secrets, received an 'Award for Special Services to the School', framed his own Uncle, stolen Marvolo's ring, and, oh yes, killed his father and paternal grandparents. _Fate paused, _yup; his wants were definitely not healthy for him._ And Fate scowled at his huge mistake.

_I should go back before all of these have happened. _Fate decided. _Of course! December 31, 1942 would be the perfect date to rewrite. After all, it would be wonderful to write Tommy's expression as I give my own personal sixteenth birthday present to him. _Fate's scowl turned into a grin.

Fate proceeded to separating The Beginning to December 30, 1942 and December 31, 1942 to the frozen present and said:

"_What's done in the past_

_No future needs _

_Let Fate repent_

_And unsow its seeds_

_And now, I speak the ancient word_

_Of redemption and regret:_

_**Rewind**__…"_

December 31, 1942 to December 25, 1998 vanished, and a new set of parchment appeared.

Thus, Fate was able to erase the latter part of time, and dipping his quill again in his bottle of ink, he started to rewrite…

* * *

**AN: **I also do not own the spell _Fate _has cast. It was from the movie, _Bewitched_. I am merely borrowing it for the sake of this story.

So? Like it? Hate it? Were there errors? Should I even think of updating? Was it alright for a first shot at FanFic? I never really thought of writing one, though I love to write original stories. Writing Fan Fiction never really appealed to me until one of _Fate's_ plot bunnies jumped on my head while I was sleeping. :)

Note that this is only the prologue, and I wrote it like a preview, therefore is many times shorter than the upcoming chapters.

Review for Rewrite would be much appreciated. :) Flames, spams, scams, comments, suggestions, Christmas greetings, the works.


	2. Wind Blows As Fate Moves

**AN: **Hey everyone. This is the update. :D

First thing's first, remember to keep your mind open.

Next, so I received a private message from **psalmofsummer** (thanks again, I appreciate it!) that she received five e-mails from FF that I updated this story around two days ago, which, I haven't. I told her that it must have been FF messing up, or something. Did anyone else get the e-mails? I didn't, and I thought the authors would also be alerted.

So, enjoy this chapter and enjoy your holidays. This chapter will give a lot of details about Desear Sprites.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, just the plot and original characters.

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Wind blows as Fate moves.**

Hermione blinked once. Then she blinked twice. She blinked a couple of times more and even rubbed her eyes a bit.

She had to make if what she was actually seeing was real.

Then she pinched her left arm. It hurt. She then slapped her face. It hurt again. So she wasn't dreaming. So, what was currently happening to her was real.

_Oh, crap_.

_Okay, so, I'm real…maybe everything else isn't…_

Hermione touched the floor. Real. Exploring the place, she then went to the couch, the table, the bed, the lamp, and the bookshelves. According to her sense of touch, everything _was _real. So, no, she wasn't dreaming, nor was she hallucinating.

She was inside a circular room, like an igloo. The room looked beautiful, but at the same time, scary. The room was unlike any other she had ever been to. The entire room looked like it was made of gold, even the furniture. The cloths, sheets, and the rest were red. Everywhere Hermione looked and everything she had touched were all colors _gold _and _red_.

There was a queen-sized circular bed on one side, and it was red, but the headboard was made of gold. The many pillows and sheets on the bed were all in varied gold and red. There was a huge armoire near the bed; it was _also _red, with gold trimmings. Hermione vaguely wandered what were inside the armoire. There was also a floor-length mirror near the armoire, looking like it was made of gold.

On the other side of the room was a fireplace, shaped like a semi-circle. There was a fire crackling merrily at the fireplace which was _gold_. On either sides of the fireplace were bookshelves filled with books. Even the books' color defined well with the place; dark red, maroon, brown, tan, orange, dark yellow. It was like the books' covers were especially made for the room. At the sight of the many books, Hermione almost smiled, but only almost.

Beside the bed was a dress table with a huge mirror, a collection perfumes, cosmetic bottles of different sizes and colors, and jewelry boxes that would have made Lavender and Parvati squeal in delight. Hermione thought that whoever owned the place must must have been pretty vain, with the huge armoire, mirrors, and make-up and everything.

_What the hell is this place?_ Hermione thought, looking around wide-eyed. The room looked like a suite for a rich fortune-teller or something, and Hermione dismally remembered the Divination classroom. _This room looks like that accursed room, _Hermione wondered who could have owned the place.

In front of the fireplace looked like a mini living room, with couches, sofas, and pillows on the carpeted floor, like a very comfortable looking miniaturized Gryffindor common room. There was also a small circular coffee table in the middle that looked exactly like the one in the Divination classroom; it even had one of those candle lamps that made the room suffocating.

Hermione thanked God that the candle lamp didn't smell anything, because there were even more hanging on the sides of the room and from the ceiling, lighting the whole place and giving it a sunset glow.

Hermione's heart was thumping loudly, she had no idea where she was, no idea how she got there, and no idea how she was going to get out. And Hermione _hated_ having no idea.

Hermione screamed an ear-splitting scream that would have made a mandrake a run for its money.

It might have been because of the eerie resemblance to her most hated classroom in the world, or the fact that she didn't know where she was, or maybe because she found out that she was wearing what looked like a gypsy outfit, or maybe it was because no matter where she looked at in the room, there was neither a door nor a window, meaning no way out of the place that was slowly becoming a nightmare. There was only a man-hole in the middle of the candle-lit ceiling, but she had no way of getting there.

_What on earth's happening?! __**Where**__ am I?!_

At this, Fate slapped his hand to his forehead. He had already 'written' Hermione in the past. He forgot to write all the other details. Technically, she didn't know her purpose. It was like taking out a zebra from its cage and transporting it to the lions' den without a specific reason.

Hermione blinked again. Fate blew his wind. Hermione's jaw dropped, her hair flying behind her as the wind grew stronger, carrying with it Fate's whispers, and everything became clear, slightly.

"Oh." Hermione whispered. She understood…a bit.

The Wind blew again, and Hermione gasped and nearly fell. "_**What**_. _When_ am I?!"

Again, the Wind blew, stronger and longer this time.

What was so weird is that it seems Hermione was the only one affected in the room. All the other objects remained intact even though the Wind was strong enough to knock her off her feet. She felt like she was flying, her eyes stung, yet she fought to keep them open, her hair and the gypsy-like dress she was wearing dancing as Fate whispered her purpose. What she was supposed to do in the time she was in, on what specific date she existed in, and what she currently was.

"A Desear _Nevie_ Sprite?" Hermione gasped. _Oh my gosh. _

She had read about Desear Sprites, of course. They were the magical world's version of the muggles' genie. She knew that Desear Sprites do exist, but were so rare that some wizards and witches in her time thought they were just a legend.

_I don't believe this. _How could she? Nothing like this had ever happened to her.

A while ago she was on a quest. She was just opening her eyes, thinking on how she and her friends will be able to find the horcruxes and destroy them. Then she had closed her eyes, suddenly experiencing an apparating kind of sensation and then, she had blinked and found herself in her room (apparently) on 1942 and now she's a genie…wearing a gypsy-like dress.

"But-…but…_why_?"

This time, Fate blew his wind gently, explaining everything to Hermione without her having a heart attack.

"Oh." Hermione said again, and as the idea became more pronounced and clear, she now understood.

Only problem now was she could't understand, out of all the people in her time currently giving their efforts on destroying Voldemort, Fate had picked her to fulfill mission to do just that. The choice was so bizarre to her that she asked again.

"Why on earth would you pick me? Why not Harry or someone else? Why _me_?"

The Wind blew again, this time, in all directions. And Hermione nodded.

Fate will move as the wind blows, unexpected and unclear on the prospect of _why_.

Hermione sighed, she now understood completely and clearly. What should have been explained in over an hour was explained to Hermione in less than five minutes, many thanks to the Wind.

Even though she now knew, she still couldn't believe any of it. A shock like this would probably last a couple of days. She wasn't particularly sure is if she didn't doubt the idea of existing in that time, existing as she was, and existing with her purpose of teaching the young Lord Voldemort about love.

At the thought, she flinched. It sounded awful, but after the whole 'wind-explanation', that was how she had summed up everything she was supposed to do. Though she hadto admit, it might actually work to prevent him from becoming a lunatic tyrant. But _how_ she was going to do it was hard, then again, she _was_ a Desear Nevie Sprite, it would have been probably easier as one.

With that notion, she asked. "Um, Fate?"

It was weird, talking to an unknown element when she couldn't see it-or him- anywhere. But, Fate answered.

"Now that I'm a Desear Nevie Sprite, how am I supposed to um…grant wishes, or something?"

This time, the Wind didn't blow, but in front of Hermione appeared her wand. At least, it looked like her original wand, only now made of gold. She took it, strange; it even felt like her original wand. Upon contact with it, swift comforting warmth enveloped her from the fingertips of her wand arm to the bottom of her toes. It _was_ her wand.

"But, what do I do? Is there a spell or a wand movement when it comes to granting wishes?"

Fate sighed, frustrated. He wasn't irritated at Hermione's unending string of questions. He was irritated at himself. After finding out about the mistakes he had done in the past, he seemed to be creating more and more mistakes even though he was trying to correct the ones he already made.

He had forgotten to tell Hermione of what she was supposed to do, and now, _how _she was supposed to do it. He blew his Wind again and from the bookshelf beside the fireplace, a book twitched, fell and flew to Hermione's hand.

Hermione, surprised, looked at the cover and saw the title: _"A Beginner Desear Sprite's Guide to Granting Wishes."_

"Okay…" Deciding that she would get back to the book after the more pressing matters at hand, she set it down on the coffee table, and looked around again at- as Fate had told her- her room.

"_This_ is my room?" Hermione had no idea if she should be rude or thankful. Don't get her wrong, the room was beautiful. It just didn't match her personality, except for the books, maybe, and the colors that suited well to the Gryffindor colors she grew accustomed to.

"_Yes. Is there a problem?"_ The Wind whispered.

"No, I guess now I understand why everything makes this place look like its for a fortune-teller, for my benefit as a…Desear Sprite, but how do I get out and…grant wishes?"

"_A Desear Sprite cannot get out on his or her own free will until someone opens his or her Desear Bottle. That someone would be your master."_

The Wind again blew, this time, to the book. It flipped open and Hermione saw the title on top of the page: _Desear Bottles and Lamps_.

"But _how_ do I get up there?" Hermione asked, looking at the hole.

"_Everything you need or want to know on how to be a Desear Sprite is all in the book."_

"Oh, okay."

Hermione started itching towards the book, but remembered something Fate had said.

"Wait," she was beginning to get used to the idea of talking to no one in particular and being answered by the wind. "You said the one who opens my…_bottle_ would be my master. What if the one who opens my bottle will not be Tom Riddle?"

The Wind blew, and for some reason, she became more confident…braver, and she got the message.

She wondered if there was anything more she needed to ask before starting on the book.

The truth was, she still found everything- if not weird- _freaky_. Everything was happening too fast. Even though she was very aware of everything that was currently happening like they were moving extra slow for her to understand. She just opened her eyes, and poof, a gazillion questions exploded in her mind like fireworks. The wind blew, and every single question was answered, all in a few minutes. That wasn't what made everything freaky, though. What was freaky was that she finally understood why she had to do it, to be the young Voldemort's Desear Nevie Sprite.

The more she thought about granting Tom Riddle his real _needs _in life, the more she became confident and enthusiastic about it. It sure wouldn't be easy, but it would be quite fair for her and all the rest from the future she came from if he never turned into He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and helping sort out his priorities will do just that. Goodness knows they had enough share of the wrath that came from his _wants_.

She was suddenly eager; it was just like the prospect of giving the house-elves rights rather than clothes. Not that they ever _wanted_ clothes, that was just what she liked to believe.

**

* * *

**

Fate grinned; he just had his first ever dialogue with one of his characters. Yup, he was a loony.

You see, here's how it works: Fate writes every single detail of every single creature's life or fate. The dialogues, monologues, or thoughts, however, came from the characters. It was like he could throw every happening into someone's life and that someone would just adlib.

That was how it works, Fate writes the storyline and decides every happening, and every single twist and turn. The script, speech and choices camefrom the characters of the story.

That is why Fate was so happy, because of the mistakes he did; he had a chance to talk to the protagonist.

Yes, he just experienced every writer's dream. And, being the loony he was, he was confident that he will be experiencing it again very soon.

**

* * *

**

Hermione took the book from the table and sat down on one of the couches in front of the roaring fire (which, after seeing there wasn't a single piece of wood, was apparently made to last forever so long as a Desear Sprite existed claiming the bottle).

Looking at the table of contents, she saw what Fate had meant about seeing everything she needed to know on being a Desear Sprite: _The Three Kinds of Desear Sprite; A Desear Sprite's Abilities, Skills, and Magic; A Desear Sprite's Master; Desear Bottles and Lamps; Proper Desear Sprite Etiquette and Fashion _(at this, Hermione scowled at her ridiculous outfit and at the armoire near the bed); and_ A Desear Sprite's Lifetime._

Hermione's eyebrows rose, and to think she only just finished the table of contents. She always thought that Desear Sprites were endangered species; they never encountered Desear Sprites in any of the subjects back at Hogwarts. She just read one paragraph about them once in a book in the library called _The Legends, the Myths and the Would-be Legends and Myths._

She opened the book on the three kinds of a Desear Sprite.

_There are three kinds of Desear Sprites: the Desearious Sprite, the Desear Dori Sprite and the Desear Nevie Sprite._

_The Desearious Sprite is the most common among the three. So common that even a few muggles have encountered one. It is the only one among the three kinds, however, which has a limit in the number of wishes he or she can grant. Usually the limit is three wishes. Even though this particular Desear Sprite is widespread, it is the only one among the three which (unfortunately or fortunately) grants the wishes in its exact phrase or how it was exactly said by the wisher._

Hermione stopped, deciding that she would get back on her 'other breed' some other time, she flipped the book to the next couple of pages, surprised at how long the description was. There were a list of known Desearious Sprites, even illustrations on how a Desearious Sprite grants wishes and what a Desearious Sprite looks like (Hermione was glad she wasn't one, male Desirous Sprites' skin color was blue while the female's was pink).

_The Desear Dori Sprite is another common kind of Desear Sprite (though not as common as the previous). It grants wishes that are exactly of the wisher's __wants__. Its wish-granting abilities are like a Desearious Sprite's, only it doesn't take the wishes literally. The Desear Dori Sprite's another similarity with the Desearious Sprite is the limit in granting wishes. It can grant an unlimited number of wishes during a limited amount of time. The shortest length is seven seconds while the longest is seven months._

Hermione stopped again and flipped the pages to the last kind of Desear Sprite and the most significant for her at the moment.

_The last but definitely not the least kind is the least common among the three, the Desear Nevie Sprite. It is so rare that Desear Sprite experts over the years have debated whether it even exists. The Desear Nevie Sprite is known for its uncanny ability to grant a wisher's __needs in life__. This ability marks it the most powerful among the three, for the life's needs are so complex that even a wisher might not be able to know his or her own. A Desear Nevie Sprite is unknown to have any numerical limits in the wish she grants, so long as the wishes granted are of the wisher's needs in life._

_As the Desear Dori Sprite is only male _(Hermione knew she missed this detail)_, the Desear Nevie Sprite is only female. It is a suggested theory that this is because most women can easily sympathize and understand one's needs and are more compassionate about life than men. _

_The Desear Nevie Sprite is the only one among the three who uses a wand, a golden wand, to be exact, to be able to grant wishes. This wand is called a Desiree Wand, which helps its owner identify the wishes of need that she can grant; this is indicated by three gold sparks that will emanate from the tip of the wand once it senses a wish of need. _

_Another of its unique quality among the three kinds is its ability to live in the current age he or she is in as long as his or her master does not stop wishing for needs until the master dies or has already acquired his or her life's needs, after this, the Desear Nevie Sprite will live a normal human lifespan. This fact also indicates a theory that one Desear Nevie Sprite exists only for one master in a lifetime._

And that was it. That was all there was about Desear Nevie Sprites, only one page, not even illustrations or pictures. Hermione frowned and opened her mouth, and closed it again, deciding that she would finish the book before she should ask questions. So far, reading this book was like ready a fairy tale.

She flipped it to the next section, _A Desear Sprite's Abilities, Skills, and Magic_, wondering how long she would take, and how long she'd have to wait before her 'master opens her bottle'. She decided that she would just read the ones important to her being a Desear Nevie Sprite.

_A Desear Nevie Sprite is the only one who has the ability to grant wishes using a Desiree Wand; a wand that has extraordinary magic. This kind of wand not only grants wishes or indicates the wishes of need, but also amplifies its owner's current magic, meaning the owner will be more powerful when it comes to magic using the wand._

_To be able to grant a wish, the wand must first indicate is the wish is actually a wish of need, by emanating three gold sparks from the tip of the wand. If the wish is not one of need, it will not be granted. All in due time, however, the wish may turn to one of need. Once there are three golden sparks emanating, a Desear Nevie Sprite must cast the Spell of Desire by saying the spell: __**Desircessi.**_

Beneath was a picture of a master and girl holding a gold wand with the said three sparks emanating from the tip of it. Her mouth moved, the word 'Desircessi' came out, and the three sparks surrounded the master.

"That seems easy enough," Hermione whispered, looking at the gold wand she had set down on the coffee table.

_As a Desearious Sprite can fly by magic carpets, Desear Dori Sprites by wings, A Desear Nevie Sprite can fly on his or her own and can also levitate other objects to be used as objects of flying; examples are carpets, brooms, cloaks, beds, and even clouds._

Hermione wasn't at all too thrilled with being able to fly. She wasn't very fond of heights.

_A Desear Nevie Sprite, like the others, also has he ability to turn invisible to everyone other than the master. A master can command his or her Desear Nevie Sprite to be unseen by others; when this is the state of the Desear Nevie Sprite, she will look transparent to the master._

_Also, she can transport herself and/or her master through teleportation._

_The general abilities of a Desear Nevie Sprite are like the ones of the other kinds; she will have no need to eat, drink, or secrete. However, unlike the others, a Desear Nevie Sprite needs to rest and sleep. One's wish-granting abilities are said to be so strong that it drains one of her energy in a time after granting a wish._

Hermione finished reading the section and turned to the next, _A Desear Sprite's Master, _and skipped to the part about Desear Nevie Sprites.

_A Desear Nevie Sprite's master is, to be put bluntly, the most complicated. Its complications are due to the fact that it may seem a Desear Nevie Sprite is 'particular' about the wishes she grants. The master then will tend to be more temperamental when dealing with wishing. _

_A Desear Nevie Sprite's master, like the others, can summon the Desear Nevie Sprite by calling out her name (in which case, the Desear Sprite will have to concede) and the Sprite will appear before him or her. Another way to summon the Desear Nevie Sprite is opening the Desear Sprite's bottle or lamp._

_A Desear Nevie Sprite cannot go as far as one mile from her master. If this happens, she will immediately be transported in the bottle or lamp._

Hermione sighed in frustration. She was starting to dislike the fact that she was a Desear Nevie Sprite, the book Fate had given her gave it the least information. With that thought, she went to the next page on _Desear Bottles and Lamps._

_There are no known difference among the bottles or lamps owned by a kind of Desear Sprite, except for the design and décor. Each bottle and lamp is a home for a Desear Sprite. This signifies the uniqueness of one. A Desear bottle or lamp has its own unique personality that fits with its Desear Sprite owner _(at this, Hermione snorted).

_A Desear Sprite's bottle or lamp can only be entered by a Desear Sprite or, if he or she wills, the Desear Sprite's master. _

_If a Desear Sprite's bottle or lamp is broken or shattered, the Desear Sprite will die if the bottle/lamp is not repaired within twenty-four hours by the master. However, repairing a magical object such as a Desear Sprite's bottle or lamp takes incredible magic to work._

Underneath were drawings and illustrations of what a Desear Sprite's bottle or lamp looks like. Hermione wondered what _her _bottle might look like, and what Tom Riddle's reaction might be once he sees the bottle. Would he open it?

Well, Fate must have known what he was doing when he enchanted Hermione to be Tom Riddle's Desear Nevie Sprite

"When will Riddle see and open my bottle?" She asked before she could stop herself.

The wind blew again, "December 31, 1942; Tom Riddle's sixteenth birthday." Hermione swore she was just imagining the snickers that seemed to come from the wind.

"It'll be like I'm his birthday present," Hermione murmured, wondering if it was going to be fortunate or unfortunate for him.

"Wait," she remembered something…December 31, 1942, then the day after is January 1, 1943. "_1943_? Isn't that the year the Basilisk was on its climactic rage; during Riddle's fifth year?" Harry had told her about that piece of information he got from Dumbledore during their sixth year, when they were having their private lessons.

The Wind blew, affirming her fear. "But I'm a muggle-born!" She hadn't forgotten the time when she was petrified during her second year. It wasn't an experience she would want to relive anytime soon.

The book that was in her hands shook, telling her that the answer was in it. With that, Hermione moved to the next section, blanching as she immediately saw the sudden change in format. The pages suddenly looked like a magazine, with all the pictures of Desear Sprite outfits and fashion. And Hermione sadly remembered the section she was in, _Proper Desear Sprite Etiquette and Fashion. _The section was divided in two parts; one for male and one for female. Hermione skipped the male part and went to the female's.

_A female Desear Sprite should be, at all times, polite and courteous to her master. She must, in every way, treat her master with well-deserved respect. _

Hermione rolled her eyes. _Well-deserved respect my arse._

_A Desear Sprite must call her master, 'master', and only by the master's name if the master wills it and gives the Sprite permission._

_She is not allowed to turn her back on her master or raise her voice at her master. She is expected to treat every conversation with her master with deference. She should not mind her master's business if not necessary. She is also expected to follow her master's every command that still regards to his or her wishes. _

_Every wish (of need for a Desear Nevie Sprite) must be granted without any denial or reconsideration. _

_A female Desear Sprite is also expected (but not mandatory) to help her master in every way her master needs._

Hermione frowned at the pictures underneath; there was one of a Desear Sprite fetching tea for her master, one fixing her master's bed, and another with the Desear Sprite being her master's personal healer and the master was in bed.

Hermione's frown deepened to a scowl as she saw the next page on _fashion_. She read the next couple of pages on Desear Sprite clothes, outfits, accessories, hairstyles, and even make-up.

_Oh, shite. _Hermione swore. She couldn't believe it. She didn't want to. Phrases from the pages she read jumped to her head.

_A Desear Sprite must wear Desear clothes appropriately…outfits sometimes have the tendency to amplify a sprite's power or magic…colors help in giving the proper mood for granting wishes…the hair should always be well taken care of…bright and colorful accessories are a necessity when completing a Desear Sprite's outfit…shoes, jewelries, bags, head accessories, and make-up should compliment each other…she should look presentable and respectable…colorful, bright, enchanting, and eccentrically beautiful make up a Desear Sprite's outfit…_

Hermione groaned. It was like the Yule Ball over again; hair, make-up, and outfit; the whole enchilada; only this time, _colorful, bright, enchanting, and eccentrically beautiful._

"No, no, no, please no, God of Fate, please no, no, no…" She stood up, setting down the book, and immediately ran to the armoire. Once she got there, she looked at the mirror beside it, and saw her outfit clearly for the first time. She looked like Esmeralda from _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_; a white off-shoulder top that showed her belly-button, a bright purple bandana tying her bushy locks, and a long pink skirt with a gold string that served as a belt, bright gold bracelets and anklets, and a shocking yellow pair of flats. To add the beautiful sort of humiliation, she was wearing _make-up; _eye shadow, eye liner, powder, lipstick, and _glitters_ on her neck and arms. _Crap._

She looked at the woman staring at her, looking like a gypsy with mouth open and eyes wide as saucers. _That's not me, _Hermione forced herself to believe. _I am not colorful, bright, enchanting, and eccentrically beautiful. Nor am I wearing such a sluttish outfit. Uh-uh. Nope. _

Hermione flinched, so did her reflection. And Hermione forced herself to tear her eyes away before she believed they were identical and moved to the armoire.

With her hands on the doorknob, she took a breath and opened the door.

She screamed, for the second time. It was like she just opened a boggart.

Inside the armoire were _colorful, bright, enchanting, and eccentrically beautiful _pieces of clothes. Off-shoulder tops, half-tops, sleeveless tops, tops that showed a bit of cleavage, tops that showed the belly button, tube-tops, below the knee skirts, mini skirts, skirts with flares, skirts with belts, platform shoes, flats, heels, slippers, sandals, dresses, nightdresses, even pajamas, bags, and cloaks; to make matters worse than they already were, every damned piece of clothing was either bright-colored, shocking colored, glittered, or multi-colored.

Hermione was just about ready to faint. Slowly, she closed the door. What's worse than seeing the inside of the armoire, she has no choice but to wear those _preposterous __**things**__. _

She blinked her eyes several times. She couldn't quite get over the shock…

And then, more apprehensive now than ever, she turned to look at the dress table near the bed. And very slowly made her way there to see what other bits of nightmare she was sure to find. She wasn't disappointed; aside from the seemingly infinite number of bottles and cases of perfumes, cosmetics, accessories, and jewelries, there was a book called _Desear Vanity: Spells and Tricks to Get a Wish-Worthy Beauty. _

Hermione whimpered. How on earth will she survive as a Desear Nevie Sprite now that she found out she had to _look_ like one? She would have never agreed to be one if _superficiality _was part of the job description. Then again, itwasn't like she had a choice.

"Fate!" Yeah, she was definitely getting used to the idea of talking to _Fate_. Now, she was thinking she might need to practice on shouting for him.

But Hermione paused. What was she supposed to say? Or ask? Or demand? That she quits, just because she didn't want to wear Desear Sprite clothes? That she didn't want to partake on a mission to prevent Tom Riddle from becoming the most powerful dark wizard the world hadever faced just because she didn't want to look colorful, bright, enchanting, and eccentrically beautiful?

Hermione sighed, frustrated. She'djust have to endure it, as long as she thinks that everything would be worth it…

She turned back to the book, and flipped the pages to the last section: _A Desear Sprite's Lifetime._

_A Desear Sprite is invincible to a human's normal means of Death, magical or muggle. A Desear Sprite has only two ways to die; if the owned bottle or lamp is broken and not repaired by the master within twenty-four hours or if the master wished for the death or non-existence of the Desear Sprite. After the fulfillment of his or her master's wishes, a Desear Sprite will continue living eternally, until the next master comes along, and the cycle continues._

_Well, that solves my problem with the Basilisk,_ Hermione thought, a bit relieved.

_A Desear Nevie Sprite however, is again an exception. After the master dies or has wished his or her life's needs, the Desear Nevie Sprite will age but still retain her magic and invincibility. But, before she finishes her lifespan as a Desear Nevie Sprite, she is entitled to one wish. Then she shall continue with her next age and will eventually die. _

Hermione frowned at this, and asked. "Fate, what will happen when I finish my lifespan as a Desear Nevie Sprite? Will I go back to my time, and everything would be peaceful and everyone unscathed?"

There was a pause. The wind blew, and Hermione was certain, for the last time that day.

"_If that is what you wish."_

Suddenly, the lights in the room dimmed slightly, signaling that it was night time outside the bottle.

Hermione looked around. Even though she just read a huge amount, received the shocks of her life in a few hours, and transported to 1942 all the way from 1998, she didn't feel one bit restless. It was a proof that she really was a Desear Nevie Sprite.

Hermione sighed, closed the book, and settled it onthe coffee table. She stared at the fire for a couple of minutes, not knowing what to feel. Should she be excited or apprehensive? Should she be confident or scared about what might happen now in her life? Should she be happy now that she was a Desear Nevie Sprite, and that the fate of the future rests not only in Fate's quill, but to her as well?

She had no idea. And she hatedhaving no idea.

She dismally went to the dress table. She hated make-up and she was going to find out in _Desear Vanity_ if there was a spell to take everything off her face. She sat on the chair and rested her cheek on her right hand and stared at her reflection; brown eyes staring back. She sighed again.

"_Well, don't you look miserable, dear? Chin up and smile. Wish worthy beauty is only truly achieved with a smile!"_

Hermione's eyes grew, shocked. She wasn't surprise about the talking mirror; there was one in the Weasley's house. She was surprised that there was _even_ a talking mirror in her Desear Bottle.

Hermione smiled. At least she'll have someone (or something) to talk to while waiting for her bottle to be opened.

"_There, that's better. You're so much prettier with that smile. I'm Aly, and the mirror near that closet is my sister, Amy. We exist to help you achieve wish-worthy beauty. We come free with every copy of 'Desear Vanity: Spells and Tricks to Get a Wish-Worthy Beauty'." _The mirror, or Aly, said.

"_Right you are, Aly." _Amy over the armoire said. _"She'll help you with your make-up, hairstyle, and jewelry, and I'll help with your outfit! It's going to be so much fun."_

"Oh, um, thank you then, Aly and Amy. I'm Hermione," Again, Hermione was torn between grateful and irritated. At least now she would not only have people to talk to but also have help with what she'll look like and what she'll have to wear. She wasn't so sure about being a dress-up doll to mirrors…

"_Oh, you're hair will look more beautiful if it's down," _and to Hermione's horror and surprise, she watched her reflection lose the bandana and the hair was suddenly down. She even _felt_ her hair go down. _"Hm, let's lose the bushiness; put a bit more wave in it. There, much better. Oh no, no, no. Purple eye shadow is __**so**__ not your color." _Hermione blinked, and the purple eye shadow turned to a much lighter and better looking pink. _"Oh, and dark red lipstick simply won't do with your complexion. And let's put an accessory for your hair" _Hermione couldn't believe what she was seeing, the blood red lips turned to a much fairer red and she was suddenly wearing a circlet with a ruby gem on her forehead. _There, now you look gorgeous, hon."_

Hermione stood and went over to the mirror by the closet. So it _wasn't_ just her reflection! Hermione gaped; she _did_ look better after what Aly did…

She looked back at the dress table and said a meek "Thank you."

"_Ooooh, now __**I**__ want to give her a make-over!" _Amy screamed, and Hermione looked at her full-view reflection. _"Oh, good Merlin, not one color fits! You can't match pink, white, purple, and yellow in one single outfit!"_

"Er…um," Hermione didn't really know what to say after being reprimanded by a mirror.

"_Not to worry, not to worry. Let's lose the yellow flats and give you a pair of yellow heels. Marvelous, now, let's turn that top to red…with a bit of gold on the ends of the sleeves. Excellent, and that skirt to a light shade of blue, let's keep the belt. There, you look absolutely stunning, simply enchanting!"_

Hermione was beyond amazed. She couldn't believe anything of what was happening to her, which wasinsane because she could believe that she was a Desear Nevie Sprite but not believe that she looked good because of _mirrors_. To make matters beyond bewildering, she actually _liked_ what she looked like…

Hermione brightened up a bit. Now that the nightmare of worrying what she'll have to wear and look like wasover, she was now pretty keen on being Tom Riddle's Desear Nevie Sprite.

She didn't have to worry about magic, or the Basilisk, or whatever wrath may come from young Lord Voldy, or how to look 'eccentrically beautiful', or anything else. Everything might turn out to be a breeze, as long as Tom Riddle cooperated. She was pretty eager for him to open the open the bottle. Surely, within a few months or so, everything would be done and finished and she would getback to her own time and everyone would be okay and happy. Besides, Fate was on her side, she _was_ sure, and Hermione grinned.

The Wind blew. But Hermione didn't notice as she went over to the books to do a bit of light reading while waiting for her 'master'.

She forgot that she had been sure that the previous time the wind blew would be the last time. It wasn't.

Then again, _the Wind blows as Fate moves_, unexpected and unforeseen.

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**Next update: the last day before next year.**

Review. :)


	3. Happy Birthday, Tom Riddle

**AN: **Happy new year, everyone! Reviews will definitely make my start of 2009. :)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter and everything else you might notice. The plot is all mine.

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**Chapter 2: Happy Birthday, Tom Riddle.**

Tom Riddle was pleased. Today was his sixteenth birthday. He never really liked his birthdays. He always remembered his worthless mother who died after giving birth to him and left him in an orphanage.

The orphanage was another reason he detested his birthdays, no one ever cared, greeted, or gave him presents.

Today, however, was an exception. Yes, he still detested it. However, he had gotten presents and greeted by the Slytherins who admired him, his _friends _who followed him like he was a god, and the teachers who adored him. This morning, he found the stack of presents at the foot of his bed. That never happened before.

He was walking in a seemingly unending tunnel. He had planned to go to a place he liked to go to ever since he discovered it at the start of the year. The place could only be opened by the Heir of Slytherin. It was also the home of the Basilisk that had been causing everyone in Hogwarts some trouble, particularly the muggle-borns. Tom smirked, remembering the petrified muggle-borns in the Hospital Wing. Shame none of the filthy mudbloods have directly seen the Basilisk's eye…yet.

He reached the main entrance to the Chamber of Secrets; a solid wall where two entwined serpents were carved, their eyes shining like emeralds. He wasn't planning on releasing the Basilisk today (even though that would certainly make his birthday). He had no need to. Almost everyone was away for the holidays, especially with all the 'mysterious attacks.'

Tom approached the wall, and said "Open" in Parseltongue. The serpents separated as the wall opened in half and he found himself at the end of a huge chamber.

He went inside and started walking to the home of the Basilisk and statue of his ancestor, Salazar Slytherin.

He stopped dead on his tracks.

There, in the middle of the chamber, was something that had never been there before. On the cold floor, clashing with the green glow that seemed to be emanating from the Chamber itself was a peculiar-looking red bottle.

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Hermione stood and placed the sixth book she had finished reading back to the bookshelf. She was smiling. There were a lot of choices to pick from when she decided that she'll pass the time waiting by reading. She was ecstatic when she found out that there were a _lot _of reference books that weren't just on Desear Sprites.

She traced her fingers over the spines of the many selections, trying to decide which one she would read. She wondered vaguely how many more she would have to read before her 'master' opens the bottle. It must be any hour now, the candles have lighted up again after her second book, which means it was daytime. Fate had explained to her during their 'wind-conversations' that she arrived in 1942 at the thirtieth of December. He also indicated that the bottle would be opened on Tom Riddle's birthday which wasthe thirty-first. So, anytime soon she should be sucked in the hole in the ceiling and be transported out of her bottle.

Hermione screamed in delight as she took a book from the bookshelf, _Hogwarts: A History._ She couldn't believe it. She had already read it more than ten times, but she never seemed to get tired of reading the History of her second home for more than half her life. Hogwarts was the magical place where she met her friends, where she had the most terrifying and most wonderful experiences in her life.

Hermione sighed. She had only been in 1942 for a couple of hours, but already she missed her friends terribly, even though she did leave during a time of war and great crisis. That reminded her…

"Fate," She asked, the last time she talked to him seemed like a very long time already. "Now that I'm here in the past, is the future frozen? Because, I read about _Mauplin's Law of Magical Time_ that time will freeze once it is left. So, is everything from my time frozen?"

Fate paused, wondering how he should explain. Technically, he separated time, not froze it. But, upon separating the past from the present, he stopped time. When he whisked Hermione to the past from the present, what once was frozen moved and what once moved froze. So, to sum it all up, yes, everything from Hermione Granger's time wasfrozen.

He blew his Wind, telling her just that, and Hermione was again relieved of another worry. She turned back to the book.

After a few pages, the wind blew, and Hermione looked up from her book, expecting to hear the whispers from the wind. But instead she heard nothing but a _whooshing _sort of sound. Hermione's brows knitted, her ears straining to hear anything from the wind. She looked up from where it was coming from and gasped.

The wind was coming from the hole in the ceiling.

She dropped her book and immediately ran to stand under the hole. Looking up, she could see a bit of light that was rapidly becoming bigger. The wind suddenly became stronger, and Hermione all of a sudden started floating, slowly at first, and she was almost immediately sucked into the hole.

It felt like the time Fate had taken her from her time and transported into the past. She felt like she was being pressed down in all directions, like apparition. Hermione closed her eyes.

Abruptly, the feeling stopped, and slowly, she opened her eyes.

She was surprised, for a couple of reasons; the colors that greeted her were a huge contrast to the colors her eyes grew used to over the hours. From red and gold, she saw green and black.

She finally knew what her bottle looked like. It had a cone-like shape, the bottom forming the shape of a sphere with a flat bottom and the top shaped like a thin triangle. She knew that it was _her _bottle because the opening was facing her.

The last reason why she was surprised was because of the person holding her bottle with his left hand and the cork with his right. He looked more surprised than she was, with his mouth slightly open and his eyes as wide as dinner plates. He had jet black hair, pale complexion and dark eyes. The fingers holding the bottle were unnaturally long. And Hermione was quite surprised to find that looking straight forward; she was staring only at his chin, even though _she_ was seventeen and he only turned sixteen today. Slowly, she raised her head to stare at his eyes.

"Wow, you're tall."

Hermione gasped, her hands flying to cover her mouth. How could she blurt out something like that? Well of course, those three words would be the first thing she would say to her master.

"I'm sorry. Please forgive me." And then, an insane idea took over her mind. She bowed, and trying very hard not to laugh as she faced the floor, said, "Master."

She looked up, and smiled. The smile must have triggered something, for at that moment, Tom Riddle shook his head from his trance and stared at Hermione.

Her smile grew wider, and he dropped the bottle.

Upon impulse, Hermione dove and caught the bottle. "Watch it! You almost dropped my bottle!"

Hermione gasped, holding the bottle between her hands. "My apologies, master." And she gave him a curt bow with the head.

"Who- _What _did you call me?" Tom Riddle asked incredulously, his low voice stained with only the slightest hint of shock. His face, however, was practically decorated with disbelief.

"I called you master, Tom Riddle, because you are. And I, Hermione, am your Desear Nevie Sprite," she bowed again. She wondered dimly why she was being so formal.

Hermione looked again at his bewildered face with a smile she couldn't seem to drop. She was trying very hard not to laugh.

"You're my…_what_?" His voice was suddenly blank. His face, too, held a vacant expression. Riddle's eyes, however, were giving her a look that said, _no freaking way._

"Oh," Hermione was surprised. She always knew that Tom Riddle was one of the brightest students Hogwarts ever had. She thought that he at least would have known something about Desear Sprites. "I see we have to take this slowly. A Desear Sprite is a magical being who grants wishes to his or her-"

"I know what a Desear Sprite is," Tom snapped. "What did you mean that _you're mine_? And that _I'm_ your _master_? How did your _bottle_ get inside the Chamber of Secrets? Who placed you here?" Riddle's voice was nearing raging point. His façade fell, and he looked angry.

Hermione was shocked. She had expected that he would be happy about having a Desear Sprite. Instead, he cared more about the fact that her bottle was inside the Chamber. How weird was that?

Hermione bit her lip from saying _"Fate brought us together," _and looked around the Chamber of Secrets, looking surprised. She was, actually. She had never actually been to the Chamber of Secrets. She was petrified during the time Harry and Ron went thereto save Ginny.

She looked back at the expectant face of her master. "I must again ask for your forgiveness, master, but I have no idea how I got inside your chamber. This is the first time I got out of my bottle, you see. And I thank you for setting me free."

Technically, she wasn't lying, sort of.

Tom's brows knitted, staring at her, but it was clear he believed her.

"What do you mean that you're my Desear _Nevie_ Sprite?"

Hermione grinned. At last they were starting to go somewhere. "I am a Desear Nevie Sprite master. A Desear Sprite who only grants wishes of need."

Tom's façade came back up. His face again looked blank, but his eyes were full of wonder and curiosity. Who wouldn't? Desear Sprites were practically endangered.

There was a long pause. He looked at her up and down, and then brown eyes stared back at dark eyes. After what seemed like a few hours, Hermione cleared her throat.

"By the way, happy birthday master,"

What? Desear Etiquette says she hadto be polite to her master. Why not start on their first encounter?

He looked at her in amazement. "How do you know that today is my birthday?"

She grinned again. _I might know more about you than you, yourself._

"Oh, we have our ways to know a bit about our master the moment we see him or her. As for your gift, would you like your wish of need to be granted?"

"Wish of need?" Tom asked. His eyes now had a spark of something more than curiosity in them. It looked like anticipation.

"Oh, I guess I'll have to explain. You see, wishes of need are a very complicated form of wish. You might wish say, to be the ruler of the universe," there was only the _slightest_ hint of sarcasm in her voice. "But, if you don't _need _to, your wish will not be granted."

"How would you know what I need more than I do?" Tom's eyes lost a bit of their eagerness.

Hermione took her wand from her pocket. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tom's expectant look turn to one of astonishment when he saw the wand made of gold.

"Using this," she held up her wand to his face, enjoying the look in his eyes. "This is my Desiree wand. A Desiree wand helps a Desear Nevie Sprite know the wishes of need of her master.

"I see," he paused, thinking, "then I guess there's no possibility…" He looked back again at her.

"Yes, master? What is it do you wish for?"

"Say, I wish to be immortal. Will that be granted?"

_Of course that's the first thing he'll try to wish for. Well, I don't need my wand to know that granting him immortality won't be healthy for him or to anyone._ Hermione thought.

She raised her wand, and was not surprise to see there were no sparks. She shook her head, pretending to look disappointed.

"I'm sorry master. But the good news is, all in due time, your wish might turn into one of need soon." _Doubtful, _Hermione prevented herself from saying.

"I see," he said again. He didn't look angry or disappointed. He looked absolutely _fascinated._

_Of course, he would be. You don't normally see a Desear Sprite every year on your birthday. _But Hermione felt slightly uncomfortable; she was feeling a little flattered by the admiration and fascination burning in his dark eyes as he curiously stared at her, the blank look still firmly placed on the rest of his face.

"How did I become your master?"

Hermione raised the bottle in her hands. "You opened my bottle and set me free, for which, I thank you." She made it sound like she was eternally grateful. She sort of was, if truth be told.

Tom nodded, staring at the bottle, which he took in his hands and was now examining in every angle. "How long have you been inside your…bottle?"

_Oh, snap. _Hermione thought, _why is he asking so many questions?_

_Oh, yeah, curiosity._

"Um, I'm not particularly sure," well, she wasn't really. "I've been inside for as long as I can remember." _It must have been a couple of hours or around a day or two. Sound good?_

Tom looked up from the bottle and stared at her face.

Again, silence ensued, lasting longer than the last.

Hermione stared back again to her master who looked like he was in a very deep thought.

After a very long (and awkward for Hermione) pause, Tom shook his head. "Let's go." He turned around to leave.

Hermione blinked. "What? Go where? Why?"

"The Chamber of Secrets is not an appropriate place to talk." He was already at the end of the chamber.

"Place to talk?" Hermione ran to him. "You want to talk about what, master?" She finally reached him, wondering why on earth he would want to _talk_.

Her question was answered when she reached him, however, and there it was again in his eyes. The burning fire of fascination and curiosity was unmistakable as he looked at her.

"Everything," they walked out of the chamber, and Hermione saw the wall with two entwined serpents conjoin behind them as they left and found themselves in a dark tunnel.

"How did you become a Desear Nevie Sprite?" He asked as he led her in the maze-like tunnel.

Hermione was down-right shocked. When she thought about what his expression might be if she denied him his first wish, sudden interest about her being what she was definitely was _not_ what she was expecting.

But, now that she came to think about it. Why wouldn't he be interested? Why shouldn't he be fascinated? Why couldn't he be curious? Why couldn't he ask questions? After all, he might as well have been one of the very few who have encountered a Desear Nevie Sprite in how many centuries. And, he was raised by muggles. Every bit of shocking revelation on magic must be something like a gift to him. Hermione remembered _her_ first encounter on anything magical.

Hermione couldn't believe that this was happening in her very first encounter with Tom Marvolo Riddle.

He was interested and was asking her questions.

She was bewildered, and she had to make up something, fast.

"Well, I have no idea how I became a Desear Nevie Sprite. I remember opening my eyes and I was inside the room in my bottle. I knew who I am and what I am. That was it, actually." The lie rolled off her tongue surprisingly easily.

"Fascinating," Tom whispered; staring straight ahead as they continued walking in the unending tunnel. Hermione looked at him, bemused. That was not the reaction she was expecting to get.

"What about your wand? How did you get it? And how do you use it to grant wishes?"

_This must have been what Fate was feeling when I kept on asking him a couple of hours ago, _Hermione thought, amused.

"Well, it's been with me ever since I opened my eyes. It was right in front of me." This time, she wasn't completely lying. "The moment I saw it, I knew what I had to do with it. I guess it was in me." She shrugged.

He nodded; still looking like having a Desear Nevie Sprite who denied granting him his first wish was the most amazing thing that had ever happened in his life since Hogwarts and he wanted to know all about it. Which, it probably was.

"And to be able to grant a wish, there must first be three sparks emanating from the tip. This means that the wish is one of need and I'll have to grant it by casting the Spell of Desire."

He turned to look at her, the same curious glance that he'd been giving her during their stare match.

They stopped walking, and Hermione found herself in front of a man-hole (like the one in her bottle) on the wall. It was the pipe that leads to the second floor girls' bathroom.

"Do you have a magic carpet or a broom?" Tom asked. "We'll have to go up that pipe to get out."

Hermione remembered her supposed ability to fly. This might be a good time to test that ability, as much as she didn't want to.

"Um, no, master, but, I _can_ fly," and she floated just like that. The moment the word 'fly' came to her mind; she just floated, though not at all graceful.

Tom's eyebrows rose as he watched Hermione steady herself mid-air. Hermione dropped to the ground, wondering how _her_ 'master' would fly.

"Would you like me to make you fly, master?" The book did say she should always help a master when in need.

"How would you do that?" Tom did not sound disbelieving, just curious. It was damn irritating that he could still look like nothing out of the extraordinary was happening when his eyes practically burned.

"Er…" She looked around, wondering what she could use to fly. She looked down and saw her belt. _Perfect. _

She took it off, grabbed one end and gave the other end to an amused watching Tom. Reluctantly, he grabbed it and Hermione flew. Apparently, so did the belt, and so did Tom.

"Are you ready, master?" Hermione grinned.

He nodded, and Hermione flew through the pipe hole. She flew and flew and flew…

_When is this __**ever**__ going to end? _She flew faster, going higher and nearer to the end, no doubt. It helped that she didn't look down.

Finally, Hermione saw the end of the pipe. It was a relief to see the light and soon, she reached it and she found herself in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, without Myrtle. She remembered the place where she brewed the polyjuice potion from her second year. But, she had to pretend that everything was all new to her so she asked,

"Um, master?" She turned to look at him as he gave her back the end of the belt. "Where exactly are we?" Keep it light.

"We're in the second floor girls' bathroom in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It's a place for wizards and witches to learn magic,"

Well Hermione did say _exactly, _plus Tom's supposed to know that she has never stepped in Hogwarts before.

"So," he said in the same monotonous voice, continuing with the conversation that to Hermione felt like an interrogation. "What are your other abilities, as a Desear Nevie Sprite besides flying? Are there more?"

Hermione was starting to feel very uncomfortable. The sudden feeling that came to her when she remembered that she was in Hogwarts also gave the sudden awareness that the one asking her so many questions was the future Lord Voldemort. For all she knew, he might be planning on taking over the Desear Sprites for his magical world takeover. But, she really had no choice. Desear Etiquette stated that she should give her bloody master well-deserved respect.

"Yes, master," Hermione finally answered as she continued following Tom out of the bathroom and into the familiar second floor corridor. "I could also levitate objects to use as objects of flying –like my belt. I also have no human needs like eating or drinking, though I do need to rest and sleep. Oh and I can also turn invisible to everyone other than my master, and teleport with my master." She paused, looking sideways to the said master. He still looked interested on what she was saying.

"Fascinating," Tom whispered again, still staring straight ahead and leading her down a flight of staircase.

"Master, where are we going?" But, according to the directions they were taking, it was quite easy to determine.

"The Slytherin Dormitories, did you say you can turn invisible? Turn invisible now, before someone sees you." He ordered her.

_Wow, the first thing he orders me is to be invisible._

Hermione immediately thought on how to do just that. She concentrated, it wasn't long before she felt a sudden chill ripple through her body and almost immediately found her transparent. _Whoa, _she thought.

Tom looked at her and opened his mouth to say something when he stopped, looking through her, his eyebrows knitting. "Peeves," he practically growled.

Behind her Hermione heard a lot of noise. Hermione turned to see Peeves the Poltergeist, looking like he did before, or more like in the future.

"_TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMYYYYYYYYYYYY!_" he screeched as he zoomed towards them, staring straight at Tom, with a huge chocolate cake in his hands. "_HAAAPPPYYY BIIIIIIIIIIIRRRTTTHHHDDAAAAAAAAAAAAYYY!!!_" And, laughing his head off, threw the cake right towards Tom. Unfortunately, Hermione was right in front of him and was currently invisible.

There was a loud _plunk _and Hermione felt the cake-both chocolate and icing- covering her face.

Peeves was dumbstruck. "_What_?"

The situation was quite hard to understand. He just threw a birthday cake to the birthday boy and he didn't get hit. Something else must have been, though. The destroyed cake was hanging midair right in front of the target.

"Peeves," Tom said, behind Hermione, in a deadly tone, "I suggest you leave now or so help me I will call the Bloody Baron and I'll make sure you'll be thrown out."

Peeves, seemingly unfazed by the threat but still shocked about his failed prank stuck his tongue out and disappeared.

There was a long pause.

Finally, Hermione opened her eyes and turned around to Tom Riddle, looking like he did ten minutes ago; calm and fascinated. The stupid arse.

"Is it alright if I clean myself up, master, before we proceed to our destination?" she asked in a composed voice. Desear Etiquette states that she should never raise her voice at her master.

"Go ahead," he said in an equally-collected tone.

She couldn't really see his reaction as she closed her eyes, took her wand and simply waved it around herself. And finally, she opened her eyes to see her master staring at her with the same burning fascination that irked her.

The Wind blew, and Hermione could practically hear Fate laughing at her.

_Great, _Hermione frowned; _the git pulls me to this era and laughs at me._

She waved her hand, signaling for her master to lead the way. Hermione idly wondered why they were going to the Slytherin dorms.

"Now tell me, as _my_ Desear Nevie Sprite; what are your duties?" he again continued with the question and answer.

_Wow, bi-polar, much? Or maybe he just doesn't care if I get covered in cake._ Hermione inwardly rolled her eyes and remembered his question. _Ah, of course. His being the master of a magical and rare human being finally got to his head. I thought it might. Well, I'm ready for that._

"Well, as _your _Desear Nevie Sprite, I am first and foremost entirely at your debt for releasing me from my bottle. I am entitled to grant all your wishes of need until you have finally achieved your Needs of Life. Aside from that, because of opening my bottle, I am also your servant." She paused to look at Tom's reaction to her choice of words, and was not surprised to see that the blank look was still in place.

The burning fascination and curiosity in his eyes, however, were joined by an unmistakable new flame of delight.

_Oh, perfect. He's probably thinking of all the evil things he can make me do so that he'll still look like an innocent angel to his professors. _

"So, if, for example, I ask you to get me a sandwich from the kitchens, will you?" Tom asked, a little while later.

"Er, yeah," Hermione was confused by his question, "Without crust, star-shaped, peanut butter or cheese. Whatever you say, master."

And he simply nodded. Hermione was getting tired of his stoic demeanor. A while ago he actually seemed like he was trying to be funny.

They were now walking in the dungeon corridors, nearing the Slytherin Common Rooms. Hermione still remembered the place from her rounds as a prefect during her fifth year.

They reached the familiar stretch of bare wall.

"Basilisk," Tom muttered, and the door concealing itself within the wall slid open and he stepped inside. _Wow, the Slytherins must be really taking pride of the Chamber of Secrets. _Hermione followed him and saw, for the first time, the Slytherin Common Room.

The room reflected the house pretty well; snake-like, cold, and dark. It was also pretty empty, save for the furniture.

Tom continued walking towards an archway near the corner that Hermione did not notice. She followed him and Tom walked inside the dormitories, and into a room.

The Slytherin Dormitory looked normal. Sort of like the ones in Gryffindor but this one did not have windows (being under the lake). There was, however, a fireplace. There were also five canopy beds, only in green.

Tom walked towards the one in the middle and set down Hermione's bottle on the dress table. Hermione remembered only now that it was with him. She also noticed a huge stack of presents at the foot of Tom's bed.

_Must be from his Death Eaters, _Hermione thought.

"Would you like me to open those for you, master?" Hermione grinned. She didn't know why, but she found it amusing volunteering works for her master, although it was the opposite when he ordered her.

"Yes, I'll just have to look for Dolohov," and he immediately left.

Hermione froze. _Dolohov_. That was the name of the Death Eater who nearly killed her during the battle in the Department of Mysteries. A wave of anger pulsed through her veins as she remembered that he was supposed to be one of the first Death Eaters.

Hermione let out a small growl. _Cool it, Hermione. Technically he hasn't done it, yet. _

"Tom!" Just then a guy with dark brown hair appeared at the door. _Speak of the devil. _Hermione looked at the fifteen year old Antonin Dolohov. _Still looks like a complete __arse__. Then again, most Death Eaters are._

"Bloody hell, where is that guy?" Dolohov left after looking around, leaving Hermione to the presents.

Hermione sighed, and waved her wand at one of the gifts. She found that it really was easier for her to perform with the gold wand. The movement ripped it open and the wrapper disappeared after another wave her wand. She set the gift- which was a thick book- on the bed and placed the birthday card of the sender on top.

Hermione's eyebrows rose when she saw the name signed on it. _Oh, yeah, I forgot Professor Slughorn teaches during this time._

Hermione continued doing this; opening the presents, placing the card on top and occasionally looking at the names. Her suspicions were proven correct; most of the gifts were from his lackeys, although there were some from professors and even (to Hermione's disgust) from admirers.

She noticed some of the familiar names like Abraxas Malfoy, Thor Nott (father of Theodore Nott during her time), Carius Mulciber (who also fought in the Department of Mysteries), and Ethan Rosier (whose son was killed by Mad-Eye Moody). Hermione thought what she was doing was actually quite amusing, like meeting characters from a book.

Most of the presents were expensive sets of books or luxurious robes. Hermione thought Tom made _allies _with the correct munificent people. He must have thought it was a certain advantage to impress the rich, well-known, and powerful community with his knowledge and power of the Dark Arts.

_Well, you gotta climb the highest mountains to get to the top. _

The remaining presents were sweets and poems from the admirers. Hermione laughed at this.

After opening everything, she proceeded to arranging the presents by kind; clothes, books, and sweets. Well, she liked things to be neat and orderly. She even took the time to use a revealing charm on everything, in case there might be harm.

There were footsteps outside and Hermione turned around to see a frowning Tom.

"Oh, hello master. I just finished arranging your presents and oh yeah, there was a guy who came here looking for you,"

She remembered something that she saw while using the revealing charm on one of the chocolate boxes. "Oh, and master, I suggest you don't eat the box of chocolates from one of your secret admirers- there, the one with heart shaped chocolates-, it seems your admirer is smitten enough to give you love potion,"

Tom looked at the box of chocolates coldly, not really looking surprised.

"Did you say someone came here looking for me?" he asked, looking at Hermione, who nodded.

"Tom!" Dolohov was back. "There you are. I've been looking all over for you. You weren't here a couple of minutes ago. I- wait, were you talking to someone?" He looked around, as though he might have missed another person in the room. Hermione was currently invisible, and was amusedly watching the scene unfold before her.

"No, I wasn't," Tom answered in a calm voice disguised by a cold tone. "Why were you looking for me, Antonin?"

"_Why _am I looking for you? Are you nuts?!" He stopped talking, realizing what he just said as Tom looked at him callously, and Hermione knew this must be his trademark look to command his followers. At this, she rolled her eyes.

"Sorry," Dolohov said in a quieter tone. "I came here to look for you because Slughorn asked me to. He noticed that you weren't at the New Year's Eve feast in The Great Hall so he told me to get you."

Tom nodded. "Alright, you go on ahead and tell them I'll be there in a few minutes. I'll just need to take care of something." Dolohov nodded and left the dormitory without another word.

Tom turned around to look at a transparent Hermione, a faint hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

"I'll have to go away. Go back to your bottle."

One of Hermione eyebrows flew and she said, "As you wish, master." For the second time that day, she bowed, trying very hard not to laugh.

She turned around and opened her bottle, and plunged herself headfirst to the opening.

After only a few seconds of her feet touching the familiar gold floor and her eyes again adjusting to the colors, she was sucked right back to the hole and out of the bottle.

Hermione blinked. She was again in front of Tom.

"What the hell happened?" Hermione asked, staring at the bottle.

"I summoned you," Tom simply said. "I called your name."

"Oh, um, is there anything else you needed, master?"

"Yes," he answered. "I want you to come with me to the Great Hall, invisible, of course. I need you to come with me just in case. And to also be familiar with the place; from now on you'll follow me around."

_Just in case you might need someone to clean your dirty work for you. And believe me; I probably know this place better than you do._

"Yes, master." Hermione said, hiding her irritation with a smile.

Tom nodded, turned around and left the dormitory. Hermione had to keep herself from sticking out her tongue at him. She followed suit; out of the dormitories, out of the still empty common room and out of the dungeons and into the entrance hall.

Tom continued walking towards the Great Hall where Hermione could hear chatter. He opened the door and let her enter first, at which, Hermione was surprised.

"This is the Great Hall."

Hermione nodded, recognizing the magnificent hall. It looked the same, except that the four tables were pushed aside to one side and there was a huge circular table in the middle. Hermione remembered the holidays in third year that the same thing happened when there were only thirteen of them dining. This time, there were fifteen who stayed for the holidays; seven professors and eight students (four girls and four boys) including Tom.

"Tom, m' boy, I thought something might have happened to you!" The unmistakable booming voice of a younger Horace Slughorn carried over all the way to the door way. Hermione thought he looked very weird with hair.

Tom placed a winning smile on his face (Hermione grimaced at his flawless teacher's pet look). "I'm sorry I'm late professor. I had to take care of something."

The professors and Headmaster Armando Dippet (Hermione noticed him from a chocolate frog) beamed when they saw Tom, all except one. A man with auburn hair and a crooked nose…

Hermione's eyes widened as he saw the merry face of the much younger Albus Dumbledore. He looked very young, at least compared to the Dumbledore Hermione knew; upon remembering him from the time she came from, Hermione's eyes brimmed with tears, but she refused to let them fall.

"It's alright, Tom. Come sit and dine with us." Dippet said, gesturing towards the chair between Slughorn and Dolohov.

Tom smiled again. "Thank you, Professor."

Yeah, almost everyone was fooled. Two of the girls who looked like they were fourth-year Ravenclaws giggled as Tom walked towards the table and the other three boys (who were all Slytherin) grinned at Tom, like they were suddenly graced by the arrival of the king. Hermione immediately saw Dolohov as one of them. The two other girls were an extremely nervous looking second-year Gryffindor and another Gryffindor wearing a prefect's badge. The latter looked strangely familiar.

This time, Hermione gasped. The girl was Professor McGonagall. Only she looked decades younger, but still had the same black hair and the same look. But, in her younger years, she was smiling and her eyes were twinkling. _She looks pretty,_ Hermione thought, smiling slightly as she looked at one of her favorite professors in her sixth-year form.

Tom sat, and Hermione stood at the back of his chair. If she wasn't invisible, she might have looked like his personal bodyguard. Hermione inwardly snorted.

"What kept you?" Dolohov whispered beside Tom as Slughorn offered him some lamb chops.

"Whatever time I arrive and why is none of your damn business, Antonin." And Dolohov recoiled, getting back at his dinner.

Hermione glared behind her master's back. _There goes the 'well-deserved respect' that I thought I might be feeling for you. _

"By the way Tom, did you get my birthday gift for you?" Slughorn asked enthusiastically and a bit exaggeratedly. Everyone in the table looked up.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the panicked look that quickly passed her master's face and bowed her head to Tom's ear. "He gave you a book on Advanced Potions called _The Cauldron's Magic _by_ Ariel Borger._" She was sure that no one heard her, one of the advantages of her invisibility, no doubt.

"Yes, I did professor. I really appreciate it. The book will definitely help me for my Potions O.W.L. this year," he answered perfectly; his voice smooth and his tones faultless.

Slughorn beamed. "Nothing less for my top fifth-year student, then again, I also expect nothing less but an 'O' on Potions." He laughed.

_No pressure, _Hermione smirked.

Tom smiled, "I guarantee you, sir."

The two Ravenclaws giggled again, obviously making a mental note that Tom Riddle's birthday was on New Year's Eve.

"Why, it's your birthday Tom?" Dippet beamed, as if the news was the cherry on top of the ending of the year.

Tom nodded; the smile still intact. But Hermione noticed he did not enjoy the attention given to his birthday.

"Well then, we must sing a birthday song!" Hermione was surprised that the enthusiastic proposal came from a grinning Dumbledore. He always had a knack for music.

"Yes! I agree. Even in these times of peril we mustn't forget the blessings we still receive." Dippet grinned and Hermione swore she saw Tom cringe as the words escaped his mouth.

Everyone joined in when Dumbledore, Dippet, and Slughorn started singing the birthday song.

All the while, Hermione –along with the three Slytherins- were trying very hard not to laugh.

After the song, Slughorn waved his wand and a huge chocolate birthday cake with green icing appeared in front of Tom, complete with candles. Hermione's grin widened when she caught the glare that only fleetingly passed Tom's smiling face as he blew the candles quickly.

Everyone helped themselves with the cake while Hermione looked up at the ceiling and saw that it was snowing. She smiled as she looked at the brilliant ceiling that she first read about in _Hogwarts: A History_. She stared around the Great Hall. It felt like years since she had last been there, not months. She felt the familiar warm feeling that she was at home.

Hermione looked at the small festivities before her. She was now standing behind the space between Slughorn and Tom to get a better look at everyone.

Slughorn, Dippet, and the other professors were all laughing, recalling some New Year's Eve party they held in Hogwarts years ago.

Dumbledore and the second-year Gryffindor were enthusiastically listening to a tale from the young Minerva McGonagall who was between them.

The three Slytherin boys were talking and laughing boisterously.

The two Ravenclaws were giggling and whispering to each other as they indiscreetly stared at Tom Riddle, who was quietly eating his dinner.

Hermione was surprised. It seemed that even with his popularity and his certain advantages with the people around him; he liked to keep to himself. Hermione watched as her master slowly ate, ignoring the happiness all around him. He looked absolutely bored. Now that he couldn't really talk to Hermione, it appeared that the burning fascination was dimming slightly.

Another hour passed with Hermione observing her master from behind. After dinner, everybody rose from their seats.

"Hey Tom," a burly looking boy who was a little shorter than Dolohov and the other Slytherin said as they waited for Tom as he gracefully rose from his seat.

Hermione prepared to follow him. He stood up and only fleetingly looked at her and walked towards them but not before hearing him whisper. "Go back to your bottle and hide it under the bed before we get there. I don't want anyone knowing anything about you." His lips barely moved.

Hermione was a bit offended. She said, "Yes, master. Good night, and a happy new year."

She quickly walked passed him and his unsuspecting Death Eaters and started flying towards the dungeons. _Flying isn't so bad; _she thought as she went to the bare wall and said the password. _As long as I set my limits to five feet and don't look down._

Hermione went straight towards the dormitories and towards Tom's bed. She got her bottle, uncorked it, placed it under his bed and plunged headfirst inside the opening.

**

* * *

**

Hermione smiled as she found herself in her red and gold room. Seriously, after only a few hours of being out and bonding with her master, she found that the place was more than bearable.

"_Well, hello dear! You've been gone for a few hours," _Amy over the armoire said. _"How did you find your master?"_

"Awful," Hermione groaned, suddenly tired, and fell on the bed, her face muffled by the pillows. "He's s annoying, mean, insufferable, and bossy as I expected him to be."

"_Oh, come on, dear," _Aly comforted. _"Chin up. This is the reason why Fate had decided this for you; to change him. Don't lose heart now; it's only the first day."_

Hermione smiled gratefully at the two mirrors, their soothing words comforting her a little. She was glad that at least the mirrors weren't just objects of vanity. She started to close her eyes, feeling like she could sleep for a whole day.

"_Hermione, no, don't sleep yet!" _Aly screeched, which wasn't necessary for her since the dress table was just beside the bed.

Hermione's eyes flew open and she looked over at Aly. "Why, what's wrong?"

"_Dear, it's important to remember not to fall asleep with make-up still on your face."_

Hermione stared blankly at her reflection as Aly magically removed the make-up. _"There, sleep tight, dear."_

Hermione yawned. She couldn't understand why she was so tired already. "Aly? Amy? Do either of you know what time is it? I'm so exhausted I don't feel like using magic."

"_It's 10:11 at night, sweetheart. You left a while ago at around 6. And you must have used magic with your wand outside the bottle to be able to feel so worn out." _Amy said in a soothing voice.

Hermione glared. _Peeves. _And her stupid master didn't do anything to help her remove the cake.

She yawned. Aly's speaking seemed so far away as she closed her eyes. _"Sweet dreams, Hermione. Beauty sleep is important."_

Hermione felt like she was already dreaming as both of them whispered, _"Happy New Year, dear. May this year bring you luck."_

* * *

**Author's Response:**

**taxibby: **Thanks a lot! I hope you liked this update.

**HP. potter. freak : **Yes! Those are my thoughts exactly when I created Aly and Amy. I'm glad you think so. Hope you like this chapter.

**Charlotte232: **Yes, I know, it's quite pitiful. I hope you liked this chapter!

**Madame Dee: **Thank you! Yes, you're feelings are quite right, actually. I hoped you liked this update. :)

**flamelm: **Thanks! :)

**Vera-Sabe: **Thank you very much for that very long, critical, helpful, and warming review! I read it thrice. I hope you liked this chapter.

**Also, thanks to the other wonderful people who subscribed/added this story to their favorites! **

**Happy New Year to all!  
**

**Next update: last week of either January or February.**

Review. :)


	4. Reality Check

**AN: **Here's the update!

I am very sorry about the one-week delay. I meant to post this since January 31 (which was my birthday! Yay! (runs around showering everyone with Skittles)) but my mom stole my laptop (my one source of internet) and so I was not able to update. This chapter is a bit shorter than most since its not very significant to the plot.

Anyways, enjoy!

**Disclaimer: **You know, on my birthday, Harry Potter was a part of my wish list. My parents said they won't be able to wing it right now. Damn. :)) I do not own Harry Potter. I own the plot and original characters.

* * *

**Chapter 3: Reality Check**

Hermione watched her reflection, amused, as Amy changed the color of Hermione's skirt from pink to yellow to white like a confused stoplight on the road.

"_Caramel yellow or Butterscotch yellow, rose pink or coral pink. How about white? Oh, what the hell!" _Amy screamed, frustrated. No wonder, they'd been at it for nearly three hours. Amy had been constantly changing Hermione's clothes and their colors. Hermione, on the other hand, was quite entertained at watching her reflection. It was like watching the never-ending changing of channels on the television.

"_Aha!" _Hermione jumped at the Amy's sudden exclamation and the sudden stop of her ever-changing clothes. Amy had _finally _decided on a butterscotch yellow colored dress with a see-through bolero.

Hermione smiled, not surprised that she actually liked the ensemble somebody else picked for her. She was used to her floor-length mirror's choice in her fashion (colorful, bright, enchanting, and eccentrically beautiful. Oh, _joy_) and realized she quite liked it. It had been four days since Amy had first designed her outfit, and hadn't stopped doing so for every day.

Hermione's smile dropped. _Four days._

It had been four days since her 'transportation' and three days since meeting the reason for her 'transportation'. _Four days since I last saw Harry and Ron…_

Hermione sighed, feeling nostalgic. Even if she left in a time of depression and sorrow and transported to a place and era where she could be happy due to her companions (a.k.a. Aly and Amy), she still missed them terribly.

"_At last, finally, it's my turn. Thank you God of time," _Aly said as Hermione made her way to the dressing table, smiling slightly at the mirror's fervor; her happy emotions mixing with the grief-filled ones.

Hermione sat on the chair and stared at her reflection as Aly worked her magic; make-up, accessories, and 'do.

"_There! Now, that's finished, dear. What took Amy three hours had only taken me three minutes,"_

"_It's not my fault," _Amy retorted. _"You base all your works on the outfit I'd pick for her!"_

"And you picked me an incredible outfit. Thanks, Amy. You too, Aly," Hermione smiled and stood up.

As was the day's custom, she walked over to the bookshelves by the roaring fire and grabbed the first book her hand grasped.

Hermione cradled _Magical Theory _by_ Adalbert Waffling _and sat down on the chair, expecting another day's worth of reading a seemingly endless number of books.

Hermione did not know how to put it, since she never had to put up with it. It was a completely weird feeling alien to her. It had started five hours after she woke up on New Year's morning. She was reading her second book, _Transfiguration: Complex and Difficult, _and was feeling very enthusiastic about studying. The feeling was something she never thought she would ever experience while a book on her favorite subject was opened on her lap.

She was completely and undeniably _bored_.

Call the dementors. Hermione Granger was bored of reading. The pigs have flown.

Who could blame her, though? She had been waiting for _three days_. She had been doing nothing but read, read, read. The moment she wakes up, Amy and Aly dress her up and she immediately set to read after thanking them. It was a tiring cycle, really.

The day would be as monotonous as the other. There was nothing to be done except read and the occasional conversation with Aly and Amy.

Nothing was ever out of the ordinary. Nothing was out-of-this world (or bottle) amazing. The only real entertainment was Amy's morning dilemma of "What Hermione Should Wear for the Day." And that was saying something; there were _books _in the red-and-gold room and she didn't find anything in the books she read that entertained her?

Not really typical Hermione Granger behavior.

She should be happy, ecstatic even, that she had all the free time in the small bottle-world she had with all her books and friendly mirrors and not outside the security and comfort her bottle offered but within range of a younger and less sadistic version of the oh-so-famous murdering tyrant in her era.

She really should be wallowing in the golden sunshine of happiness…

Instead of simply sitting on the armchair, a book in her hands, and waiting for time to simply pass by, boring her short-lived Desear Nevie Sprite life to death.

But, the bright sides of this whole gloomy routine?

She was increasing her knowledge about a whole range of subjects and found that she could read an average of fives books a day.

Really. Those were hardly bright sides.

What irked Hermione more than not doing anything constructive? It was that she knew that outside her room-bottle, there were some things needed to be done, like, granting Tom Riddle his wishes of needs, helping him discover his wishes of needs, or, if those were out of the question, finding more about him to help Hermione in her tasks as a Desear Nevie Sprite. She _loathed_ knowing that she _needed_ to do something (or some things) yet had no way to do it, or them…

Putting of those 'some things' was delaying Hermione's time traveling duties, which meant that she would have to stay in the era she was in more than she intended or wanted to.

She had to do _something_ other than read.

**

* * *

**

Two hours later, she was still reading.

There was pin-drop silence in her bottle-save the occasional turning of a page and the crackling of the fire; the same pin-drop silence that occupied the whole room the day before, and the day before that…

And possibly even the day after that, and then the day after that, and then another day after that…

The bottle's owner and occupant turned to the next page like a robot. It was the same old thing; her page-turning abilities were sharpening up to their highest potential.

There was nothing that could even be inclined with the word 'interesting'. Not the infinite fire nor the smart witch-turned-Desear Nevie Sprite. Not even the complex and wide range of knowledge _Magical Theory_ had to offer.

Hermione groaned. She couldn't live like this. It was so…tedious she could actually barf. She couldn't die of boredom while reading.

She would read around four to six books all day, and when the candles burned low she would stand and feel like her butt was still attached to one of the living room chairs, then she'd sleep, wake up, be dressed up, and then the cycle continues…yet again…

_Maybe the sadistic git forgot about me…_

Fat chance.

Hermione stood up and went to place the book back to the shelf. Her head felt dead with the new weight of information. Her eyes felt like golf balls. Her feet were walking the same steps that she took every time she opted for a new read.

Suddenly, she heard a most glorious sound; it was like melodious music to her ears, like the songs of mermaids underwater.

She heard the familiar whooshing sound that she last heard three days ago.

_Finally, _Hermione thought and turned to look at the hole in the ceiling, where wind was coming from. It was a sight worthy to behold to the gods, in Hermione's opinion.

The wind picked up and Hermione felt herself rise a few inches from the ground. The feeling was familiar, and Hermione never thought she'd ever feel quite as ecstatic and relieved and excited as she did at that time she was flying towards the hole on her bottle ceiling, the only way out of the torture/boredom chamber.

"_Good luck, Hermione!" _Aly screamed. But Hermione only barely caught the words that escaped from her dressing table due to the rushing of the winds around her. The initial feelings of apparition were pressing in on her. She closed her eyes and scrunched up her face. The sensation was shocking after three days of feeling the sensation of ennui.

A second later, Hermione opened her eyes and saw the person she had been eager to see-due to boredom-, but dreaded meeting again for the second time.

Said person had his back facing her as he was sitting on a chair, the table in front of him filled with books; almost covering a whole section of the wall, actually.

As soon as Tom Riddle heard Hermione, he looked up from the book his nose was buried to and turned to his Desear Nevie Sprite.

"Hello master," Hermione said politely with a smile instead of insulting his Dark-Lord_ness _as she was oh-so-tempted to. She decided that she was glad to finally see the teenage Dark Lord, she was afraid she'd go ballistic talking to her reflection for longer than a week.

"Get me these books, immediately. They're here in the library," was his greeting as he handed her a foot-long parchment containing a list. What was that again about being glad to finally seeing the teenage Dark Lord?

His was the first voice she heard besides hers, Aly's, and Amy's and those were the first words his British-accented-Spanish-hinted voice brought?

_Oh, Lord Voldemort, how nice of you to summon me after three boring-to-tears days and ordering me to get your books for your lazy arse instead of giving me a slow and painful torturous death. I am entirely grateful that you have brought me out of the tedious misery my bottle brings. _Hermione thought sarcastically as she took the list from his hand and looked at it.

_Great Wizards of the Nineteenth Century_, _An Anthology of Eighteenth Century Charms_, _Great Wizarding Events of the Seventeenth Century_, _Quintessence: A Quest_, _Magical Water Plants of the Pacific Ocean_, _Sir Condenium's List of Deathly Curses and Their Counter-Curses_, _Advanced Theory of Numerology_, _Wizards's Weird Wordings_, and the list goes on…

_This guy must be planning on killing me slowly since I didn't grant him his first wish. Seriously, he has to know (or believe) that I have absolutely no idea where we are and how in Merlin's name I'll find these books. _Hermione sighed, turned around, and almost screamed in ecstasy.

She was facing a familiar collection of shelves of books. The heart of her home (at least, she thought so), the Hogwarts library. She felt her heart flutter. And to think a while a go she actually felt bored of reading? No way in bloody hell.

Hermione, though apprehensive of finding all the books from the long list, looked at the first thing on it and went to the History part of the library.

When she was a good few steps from her master, she let herself a wide grin. It was like being home again.

She noticed the familiar books that could be located at the back part of the library. Hermione turned around to see Tom Riddle back to his books. Of course, even if he was in the library, he must still have the feel of isolation.

_Oh, who cares about him_, Hermione thought as she set to work and took _Great Wizards of the Nineteenth Century _from a shelf. Holding the book with her right hand, she looked at the next thing on the list and went to the Charms section.

Ten minutes later, she was only a third through the list and her arms were loaded with books. She was practically stooping down and her chin was on the top of highest book. Hermione decided that it might be best if she gave the books back to her master before starting on the next book.

Albeit with difficulty, she started her way back to the teenaged epitome of evil.

Said teenaged epitome of evil turned at the sound of her shuffling and raised his eyebrows at Hermione thought might be the image she must have been giving; a hunchback bookworm.

"It would have been wiser if you gave me each book that you found."

_I agree. But, then again, it would have been __**smarter**__ if you just look for the books yourself._ Hermione kept her face straight and set the books on the table already roofed with books.

She stood up and stretched her heavy shoulders. She looked at the books sprawled on the table, and scowled.

The books were not arranged by subject.

The large part of her brain that considered it the logical and smart part screamed in agony at the sight of the unorganized books and the boy who had his nose buried in one.

The books weren't messy, but actually arranged in neat piles. They weren't arranged by subject was what was bothering her.

Call her obsessive compulsive, but that was just how she was when it came to studying, even if _she_ wasn't the one studying. How typical Hermione. How sad.

Hermione took her Desiree wand from a pocket and asked the teen Voldy, "Master, can I have permission to arrange these books according to subject?"

That sounded stupid, in Hermione's opinion, when she heard herself say it. _What are you thinking, Hermione? This may be a much younger version but he is still Lord Voldemort! He might be offended and punish you for that!_

Tom looked up from his book, the familiar cool-calm-collected look on his face. The familiar spark of wonder in his eyes, either from being called a master and having someone ask for permission to arrange his stuff or simply because he had a neat freak for a Desear Nevie Sprite.

Whatever the reason, he nodded in a curt manner and went back to the book.

Hermione positioned her wand and waved it nonchalantly at the books, nonverbally arranging them; Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, Transfiguration, History of Magic, Charms, Herbology, Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy, and Study of Ancient Runes.

Hermione grinned at her accomplishment and noticed something quite odd with what she did. Realizing it didn't do her good to dwell on it any longer; Hermione remembered the unfinished list on her left hand and looked at it. There was _only_ eighteen more to go.

Hermione sighed, irritated. _This is the reason why I stand on the fact that house-elves must feel times when they just want to retire. Honestly, wizards simply ordering them around whatever the time of day? Really, it's amazing how people could simply command them just because they're enthusiastic about answering orders. Humans shouldn't be so abusive of the power they have over those who are of lower status and different less fortunate species._

She flinched at the comparison she realized she just made with herself and house-elves. Hermione felt pathetic. _I've only been his Desear Nevie Sprite for four days and already I feel like his slave? I think I forgot my backbone in 1998._

Hermione did a double take. _**His**__? Oh my, gosh. _

_What's happening to me? _Hermione stopped walking and actually looked at her hands. She wasn't invisible today. She immediately turned transparent, just in case.

_Did I just call myself his? Did I just say I feel like his slave? Is my head finally gone mush after reading for three days? Ron had said that one of these days I'd go crazy due to reading…_

… _wizards simply ordering them around whatever the time of day …_

… _simply command them just because they're enthusiastic about answering orders …_

… _different __**less fortunate**__ species ..._

Hermione looked up. _Its okay, Hermione,_ she told herself and gazed again at the list, heading towards the Potions section. _Maybe it's just because you've been in your bottle for too long you've become too enthusiastic about doing something useful for your master that would-I hope- eventually lead him to wishing his needs and you'll be out of here in no time. Calm down. You are not turning into a full-fledged Desear Nevie Sprite and Voldemort's slave._

She shook her head, hoping that the pathetic fear of changing as a person would not eat her.

A good hour later, she was finally done. Hermione knew she made quite a slow progress but she had decided to 'be wiser and hand him each book that she found.' It was good exercise, really, after all three days of sitting. She even remembered to arrange each book she found to the ten subjects organized on the table in front of the still studying dark-haired future dark lord.

_Oh, _Hermione said, an idea popping in her mind. _So that's what's so weird. We have the same O.W.L's. Ah, well…_

Hermione finished arranging everything, even taking the liberty to organize the books according to alphabetical order. She could get used to this; arranging his things.

Hermione didn't know how long she would have to wait when Tom took his sixth DADA book. _Thirty-two more to go, I wonder how long until he finally notices me, standing beside him, barely two feet away. Can he be any more of a __sodding __jerk?_

So this was how Hermione found herself spending every living moment in 1943 that she would exhaust with teen Voldy; insulting him using her eyes.

Good progress, she was finally learning how to be optimistic about being his Desear Nevie Sprite. And it was only the third day.

By the time Hermione's patience had finally snapped, Tom was on the second subject's third book. She was actually quite proud at her own tolerance, especially since it was towards the future dark lord who killed thousands of people and who indirectly made her life a problem-filled hell.

Said guy finally looked up after the first page, his face blank, as if he _finally _realized that he left her staring at him.

Hermione smiled, with much effort.

"What time is it?" was the third thing that day that came out of his mouth.

_How should I know? Do I look like a sundial? _Hermione took her wand out again and waved it in front of her. Red smoke formulated and started showing an irregular group of shapes. It showed 3:43pm.

_He is __**so**__ training himself to be lazier since he now knows that I am available to do all his biddings._

"I see," he simply said.

The time disappeared. And Tom was left to stare at Hermione, whose smile now was hardly noticeable.

She was staring at his dark grey eyes, seeing him as the Lord Voldemort in her time period. She was seeing him as the guy who murdered Harry's parents, who made her friend's life a living hell, who made her first year filled with obstacles worthy for adults, who made Ginny's first year life torturous, who made people betray each other, who made his own life escape death, whose blood-red eyes saw the death of countless people…

Hermione glared.

She couldn't help it. After her patience snapped, there was no telling what the brilliant and scary Hermione Granger would have done.

Her fists clenched and she gritted her teeth. Her jaw was set. She wanted nothing more than to raise the wand in her arm and fling curses at him until he could no longer remember his own name. She was quivering. Her eyes were stinging with tears of hatred. Her wand arm was rising a few centimeters…

The Wind blew, and Hermione felt a searing stabbing, yet rapid, pain on her chest. She almost gasped, almost, until she heard the familiar voice of Fate.

"_A female Desear Sprite should be, at all times, polite and courteous to her master. She must, in every way, treat her master with well-deserved respect."_

_He deserves no respect_, Hermione mind screamed in protest, still experiencing the pulsing desire to treat her master with his 'well-deserved respect'; an endless amount of curses and jinxes. _He deserves every kind of painful and torturing __**well-deserved**__ respect._

The Wind blew, and Hermione's mind cleared. She no longer felt angry, only just. She blinked several times and relaxed her stance.

_That was __**not**__ fair._

And everything happened in less than two minutes.

Tom Riddle was back on his book, casually turning the next page of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_. His face answered the question that was lingering in Hermione's mind. He didn't notice anything.

Hermione wanted to scream, but she suddenly felt tired after the pain that was caused by both her anger and Fate (or it must have been her Desear Nevie Sprite-ness' Etiquette that pulled her back after breaking a rule).

_Bugger, _Hermione thought, _those rules are real, apparently. This is simply unjust. Not only is the prick abusing his power over me, he's also allowed to and has the advantage of Desear Sprite Etiquette backing him up. Then again, it's not like asking what time it was is considered as abuse of power. _

Hermione sighed audibly. And Tom sharply looked back at her. Hermione shifted slightly, and plastered her face with a smile.

"Go back to your bottle."

Hermione's forced-smile widened. _I hate you. _

"Thank you master," she realized she was suddenly disappearing and the library around her was quickly fading. The last thing she saw was Tom's face holding an expression of surprise, but extremely pleased, as if he didn't know he had the power to transport Hermione back to her bottle.

_Great, another advantage, _Hermione thought to herself as the setting changed around her. She was back in her bottle. Again, after only a few hours outside it, she felt relieved and comforted that she was finally inside the gold and red aura it brought. And she actually felt bored here?

"_Hello there, Hermione. Back so soon, are we?" _Hermione noticed Amy's cheerful voice and turned to her floor-length mirror.

"And finally," Hermione murmured, collapsing on her queen-sized bed. The shining gold top of her canopy greeting her with the light they brought.

"_How was your encounter with your master? Was he more civilized this time?" _Hermione heard Aly's comforting and motherly voice. Honestly, it was so easy to distinguish the two mirrors. Amy's voice was more easygoing, fun, and cheerful. Aly's was more understanding and soothing. Both voices warmed her heart and eased some of the rage that was only slightly bubbling inside her.

She suddenly felt sad. How she wished she had a civilized master. How she wished she had a master who was a bit nicer, a bit kinder, a bit more polite; quite unlike the one she got. Then again, it wasn't as if she _had_ a choice in the matter of who her master would (or should) be.

"Yeah, if civilized meant 'a rude, selfish, insensitive, lazy arsehole who made an anagram from his name to inflict fear to those who hear it'. If that's the meaning of 'civilized' in 1943, then yes. He was quite the refined gentleman." Hermione answered, rolling on the bed so that she was facing the dressing table.

"_Oh, dear. He must be __**that**__ bad. He sounds absolutely awful." _Amy said.

Hermione chuckled. "Bad would be such a sad understatement. It hardly fits."

"_Well, honey, it helps to look at the bright sides of things- no matter how awful they may be. Just think that this is actually for a good cause. Fate has granted you an opportunity like no other. An opportunity that- when accomplished- would make everyone's lives loads better. It's for the good of everyone, Hermione." _Aly said, matter-of-factly.

Hermione grinned. "Yeah, it helps to think that it's for the 'good of everyone.' Sometimes, during those times I had with Harry and Ron, every time we land ourselves in a crazy adventure. I always hold on to the thin white line that it's for the good of everyone. That, somehow, we'll pull through. And even when we're in deep shite, like the time I left them while searching for the deathly hallows, I kept thinking and believing that it's for the good of everyone."

Hermione realized she had tears in her eyes and was surprised. She smiled slightly at the memory of her best friends. "Harry and Ron help me see the brighter sides of those things we do. Unfortunately for me, I'm on my own and I'm having a hard time searching and holding on to the good of what I'm doing will bring, especially now since nothing's happening that is even hinting that all I'm doing is right; that I'm on the right road. He hasn't even wished a need yet. Who knows how long I'll take?"

"_Long enough," _Aly whispered.

"_Hermione, I don't think you're seeing things correctly. If you really think that this is all some kind of adventure, then you're right. But it's not an adventure where you take things and make the most out of them. This adventure requires you to receive things and form something out of it. It won't help looking forward to your destination. Sometimes you have to look down at the road you're taking to know that you're walking the right way towards your destination." _Amy's cheerful voice was softer and sounded more like Aly. Maybe that was the reason why Hermione agreed with her words.

"_And dear, we may not be Harry and Ron, but we __**are**__ Aly and Amy. We'll help you get you get through in the best way we possibly can. Besides, the road you're taking may be a very long one. But the end will be worth all the shite." _Aly's voice seared Hermione's heart, and felt it getting bigger. She felt comforted and somewhat happy. She thanked Fate for giving her mirrors- something she thought she'd never need or want in life, as she was never one to care of what she looked like.

Mirrors are truly more than glass; if you look pass the reflection. Quite like life. Never as it seems, you have to delve deeper to truly understand.

And Hermione, with the help of mirrors, finally delved deeper into the situation she was in; rather like a life changing epiphany. She realized that the whole situation she was in would not be easy, as she first thought. Nothing would be what she expected, as what she hoped. Things probably woldn't be any easier, as what she wished for. She'll probably be in deeper shite by the end of the next encounter, something she dreaded. And most crucial of all: she realized that being Tom's Desear Nevie Sprite wasn't a real treat.

It was quite a painful reality check, actually. She was proven wrong of all that she thought about the whole thing. And we all know Hermione Granger did _not_ like being wrong.

Honestly, though, looking past all the pain reality brought, she felt sad yet also quite relieved that she was hit by the truth now instead of later, when things might be worse than they already were.

Hermione buried her pondering head on the pillow and let the bed cloth her petite frame with its comfort.

"Aly? Amy?" She called.

"_Yes?" _They answered at the same time.

Hermione smiled. "Thanks, a lot. I don't know what I would have done without you two…"

Amy chuckled. _"Well for one, you would have been an eye sore."_

"_And you would have been clueless for most part of your morning. Oh, and you have no one to rant to every time you come back after meeting with your master." _Aly said.

"True. You know what; the first thing on my list of 'Why I Even Bother in 1943' would be you guys."

"_Well," _Amy's voice was its usual cheerful self._ "I am honored. That is quite the prestigious award amongst us mirrors."_

"_Yes, you're right, Amy. This is quite the day, isn't it? An incredible honor, we should be making a speech. Oh, let's add mum in our list of who to thank." _Aly laughed.

Hermione, wondering vaguely how on earth two mirrors could have mum, basked in happiness, her previous worries and dilemmas fading slowly from her mind as she listened to her own laughter; something she hadn't heard for quite some time now…and something she wished she won't ever forget…

**

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**

**Author's Response: **

**Nyzoe:** Thanks for the review! I enjoyed it and it was very helpful. I hope you like this chapter.

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